


Noble Man, Noble Deed

by alynwa



Category: Boston Legal
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2709530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynwa/pseuds/alynwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Denny asks Alan why he embezzled early on in his career.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noble Man, Noble Deed

**Author's Note:**

> This story alludes to my Triple A tale "Cathy," but in this universe the character of Adrienne doesn't exist.

Denny and Alan had retired to their bedroom around eight – thirty that night to watch movies. It was a December Saturday, two weeks after Thanksgiving. They had no social obligations to meet that day and Alan, for one, was glad. He didn’t care if they never went to a cocktail party or dinner soiree, he was perfectly content to simply hang out with Denny wherever they might be. This particular night, they were staying in Denny’s condo in downtown Boston. They were newly engaged and hadn’t even gone to apply for their marriage license yet. Alan was still slightly stunned that he had accepted Denny’s marriage proposal, but he had no regrets; indeed, he was looking forward to being married again.

The end credits were rolling for the second movie, _To Kill a Mockingbird_ , when Denny picked up the remote. “Do you want to watch this?”

Alan shook his head and slid down farther under the sheets. “No, I’m ready for the lights to go out.” He grunted in satisfaction as he heard the DVD player get turned off and saw the light outside his eyelids go dark. “That’s better,” he said as he moved to cuddle with his bedmate. He was on his was to Dreamland when he heard Denny speak. “What did you say?”

“I _said:_ Why did you embezzle at Carruthers?”

Startled, Alan moved off Denny, sat up, turned on his lamp and stared. “What made you ask _that_?”

The older man shrugged. “The movie, I guess. Atticus Finch is such an upstanding, moral attorney.”

“And, I’m not?”

“Don’t bust my chops, Alan. I’m saying that maybe you’re not Finch, but you do have a strong sense of right and wrong and you had a reason why you embezzled from your employer. You must have.”

Alan got up and poured himself a drink from the bottle of single malt scotch. “I ‘must have’ had a reason? You sure of that?” He scooted back into bed and sipped his drink. He was astonished to see Denny raise himself up and look angry.

“Yes, I sure!” he barked, “You are, forgive my corniness, the most noble man I know. I don’t believe you stole money just to line your own pockets. Spill, Shore. Tell me the truth; you can trust me with it.”

Alan choked on his drink and had to wipe his mouth quickly before the liquid dribbled off his chin. “ _Noble?_ ” he gasped while reaching for a napkin, “Don’t make me out to be something I’m not. Nothing _about_ me is noble.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. You’re stalling. I want to know.”

“Want to know what?” Alan asked with feigned, wide – eyed innocence.

“I want to know,” Denny with an edge of annoyance in his voice, “why you embezzled money when you were employed by Carruthers – Abbott. You were making an excellent salary for your level of experience and from what I’d heard, you could have gone far with that company.” He reached over and grasped Alan’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Did it have something to do with your wife dying?” he asked softy. “That’s it, isn’t it? I’m sorry for bringing up sad memories.”

Alan patted the large hand on his shoulder and smiled briefly. “No, it didn’t really have anything to do with Cathy, at least, not directly. No need to apologize, my friend. I just haven’t thought about that time for so long…” He shifted so that he was looking into Denny’s face. “Here’s how it all started.”

_1993_

Alan was in his office on the eighth floor of the Carruthers – Abbott office building sipping a glass of red wine while going over his notes from court. It was almost eight – thirty at night and he was tired. It seemed like every day, he was a little more tired than the day before, but he hated going back to the hotel room he now called home. He hated sleeping. Instead of rest, sleep brought either night terrors or even worse, dreams about his beloved Cathy; dreams that revived the good times they had shared during their time together. Classical music on the Common, dinners out, Sunday mornings in bed or even more cruelly, sometimes he dreamed of what they had planned; he dreamed about living with her in New York City where she played for the Philharmonic, of the children they wanted to have, of them growing older together. Then he would awaken and be crushed by her death all over again, the grief as fresh as the night it happened, and his tears would flow and his heart break anew.

He glanced at his watch and noted the time. Gulping the last of his drink, he placed his notes in his briefcase and prepared to leave. He had a feeling that he was going to have another long conversation with Johnny Walker Gold when he got to his room. His floor was completely deserted, he thought, so when he began to hear a male and a female arguing down the hall, he went to his doorway and listened.

“Mary Alice, I have had it with you!” _Hmmm, sounds like Carruthers himself._ “I’ve laid out enough money for you, well, no more! You’re on your own!”

“Daddy, what are you _talking_ about?” an almost hysterical woman answered. “That was _child support,_ for God’s sake! I’m in trouble here, Dad, and I don’t have anyone else to turn to for help. Please, Daddy!”

“Fine, I’ll pay for an abortion.”

The silence that followed was as loud as a scream to the eavesdropping attorney. “That is the cruelest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he heard the woman hiss, “Perry and I don’t _want_ to abort the pregnancy! Our doctor says surgery in vitro will save our baby.”

“I’m sorry, Mary. You know I never approved of you marrying that… _teacher._ Now you see why; he doesn’t make enough money to take care of you properly. He can’t afford the surgery to correct the baby’s defects and if it lives, he won’t be able to provide for its needs. You’ll be making sacrifices and struggling for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?”

“No, of _course_ not, but I will do whatever it takes to give my child a good life because I’ll be his or her _mother._ Why do you think I came here to beg _you_ for the money for the surgery? You’ve barely acknowledged my existence since you divorced Mom. If you want to ignore me, fine, but this is your _grandchild,_ don’t you care at all?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. Goodbye, Mary.”

Alan pushed his door almost closed as he heard the woman, sobbing quietly, heading his way. By the time she walked past his door, Alan had made up his mind. He hurried to gather up his coat, briefcase and hat and strode quickly to the elevator bank and just managed to jut his case between the doors to force them open, startling the woman inside.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he offered up as he took the opportunity to put a face to the desperate words he had listened to earlier. She appeared to be in her late twenties, maybe five feet seven inches tall, in shape, but obviously pregnant, probably six or seven months along. “Listen, there’s no politically correct way to say this, so I’ll just blurt this out: My name is Alan Shore, I overheard the argument you had with your father. He’s a bastard and I will pay for the surgery you need to save your baby.”

“What? What did you say?”

“You heard me.” He reached over and pulled the “Stop” button on the elevator. He retreated as far away from the woman as possible and raised his hands in a way he hoped showed that he was no threat. “Mary, isn’t it? I will get you the money to have the surgery if you agree to certain conditions.”

“Conditions? What kind of conditions? I don’t know what you _think_ you know, but I’m not about to screw you for anything! I’m a married woman!”

“Mary, you are a passably attractive woman, but please don’t flatter yourself. I have no sexual interest in you, at all. My conditions are that you do not, _ever_ , tell your father or husband that I gave you this money and, no matter what, you will never mention my name to anyone. Tell your husband your father gave it to you. I don’t care, just keep my name out of it.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “And that’s it? Those are your conditions?”

He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a business card. Handing it to her, he said, “One more thing: Let me know if the operation was successful. _Those_ are my conditions. Do you accept?”

Mary was stunned. She stammered, “But, _why?_ I don’t know you, why would you do this for me?”

“I have my reasons and unless you know some _other_ stranger willing to make the same offer, I suggest you not let the opportunity pass. Are my conditions acceptable or not?”

“Yeah, um, yes! Thank you! Thank you so much. I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing _to_ say. Set up the appointments for the surgery and when money is needed, text me at that cellphone number who to make the check payable to and where to send it. I won’t be speaking to you again, Mary. Good luck to you.” He pushed the button to start the elevator again. He deliberately kept his back to her and as soon as the doors opened, he stepped through and went home. For the first time since Cathy died, he slept peacefully.

_2008_

Denny was fascinated listening to the story. “So, what happened after that?”

“I began to cook my books. If I performed five hours’ work, I would bill for six. Everything I billed for, I billed thirty to forty percent over the true price. I started entertaining clients and potential clients frequently, something I hadn’t done before. I would take them to the priciest restaurants and bars in town, pad the bill and submit it for reimbursement. At first, it wasn’t an issue because I landed several whales for the firm and I think even after people started noticing something wasn’t completely kosher about my recordkeeping, nothing was said because I was earning bring bucks.”

“One day, Carruthers called me into his office after hours. He tossed proof on his desk of my malfeasance and began yelling that he would see me disbarred and jailed. When I closed the distance between us and told him to shut up, he was so shocked that he did. It made me feel good, I have to admit, that he seemed just a _teensy_ bit scared.”

_1993_

“Listen to me, you well – dressed, lowlife piece of trash,” Alan growled, “You are not having me disbarred and you are not calling the police because, if you do, I will make sure that _everyone_ knows what a hateful, disgusting excuse of a father and a human being you are.”

Carruthers’ eyes widened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!” he snapped.

Alan unbuttoned his jacket and sat down. “Let me enlighten you, Aaron. I _can_ call you Aaron? Of course, I can. I was in my office the night you refused to help your daughter pay for surgery to save her fetus’ life. I heard you offer up an abortion basically as punishment for marrying beneath her. I caught up with her as she left you; devastated and feeling more alone than she thought possible, and I told her I would pay for her doctors. I just didn’t tell her that I would be using _your_ money to do it.”

“Yes, I embezzled from you; I admit it. And every dime went to Mary’s medical bills. By the way, I know you don’t care, but the baby is going to be fine. The surgery was successful. Her husband thinks you paid for everything; she told me in a text she took my advice and told him that when he asked where the money was coming from.”

“Only three people know how big a bastard you truly are: your daughter, you and me. If you wish to keep it that way, just fire me. I’ll be fine, but if you decide to prosecute, I will make sure your family’s business is spread across the front page of every tabloid in Boston and _everyone_ will know. So, what do you say, Aaron? What’s it going to be?”

_2008_

“Well?”

“Well, what, Denny?”

“What did Carruthers _do_?”

Alan rolled his eyes and set his empty glass down on the coaster on his nightstand. “I’m sitting in your bed, a free attorney who works for the law firm you, Edwin and Shirley created. What do you _think_ he did? He fired me and I went to my friend Eleanor for a job.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. You still haven’t answered my original question: Why did you do it? I mean, yes, Carruthers was being a jerk to his kid, but what made you decide to ride to the rescue?”

Alan leaned back against the headboard and gazed at the ceiling. “Hearing him yelling at her, almost like he hated her, reminded me of my father. My wife dying when she did took away my dream of having children with her, so I think that helping that pregnant woman’s baby survive and thrive helped me honor Cathy’s memory, get back at my father in some weird way and get on the road to healing.”

Denny grunted and slid down under the covers again. “Cut off the light,” he commanded and grinned to himself as Alan dutifully obeyed. _He fights with everyone except me,_ he thought proudly, _He really doesn’t mind me taking the lead._ “I was right, you know.”

Alan was making himself comfortable on Denny’s chest. “About what?”

“About you. Deny it all you want, but you have such a strong sense of right and wrong, you are so ready to stand up for the underdog. You, my friend, are noble. That’s why I love you.”

Alan was about to protest, but thought, _What’s the point?_ Instead, he replied, “I love you, too, Denny. G’night.”

 


End file.
